What Do I Fear?
by The Murder of a Crow
Summary: She may be knew to Magic, but she's pretty sure not everyone hears voices and sees weird things. With only a ghost and the journal of a dead girl as her allies, Hermione delves deep within the mysteries and secrets of magic. Not Binns/HG romance. Open to suggestions, so PM me!


**A/N: Alright, so this starts out in Hermione's first year. You'll realize quickly that this does not perfectly line up with the books or movies, but I try to keep as much as possible to the timeline as possible. And I'm not gonna have anything crazy in here like Hermione falling hopelessly in love with Draco and them having a bunch of babies and laughing as they kill Harry and the Order and what not. So if you're looking for something like that, then I suggest you leave now. If, however, you are looking for a new, strange sort of story that I don't believe has been done before, then you are in the right spot.**

**This is the prologue and in a sort of weird 3****rd**** person 1****st**** person POV. After this, though, the POV should only be in 1****st**** person and I'll tell who's as we go (though it'll probably be obvious).**

**I take criticism well, so feel free to speak your mind. This is my first attempt at something like this, so I'll take whatever you've got. However, I will not be very kind to Flames. If you say something along the lines of "This is stupid" or "I don't like this story" with no reasonable explanation as to why, then I will assume that you are an idiot (no offence). So, think before you comment. Please. I love comments like "This rocks" "You rock" or "You remind me of pink ponies dancing on cupcakes" and I would metaphorically dance on the moon if I got any of these strange comments. So please, feel free to comment.**

**Anywho, on to the story. I'm sure none of you read this authors note and have already moved on to the story. If, by some chance you haven't skipped ahead, I hope you enjoy my strange tale. If anyone has questions, feel free to message me. Thanks!**

Brown eyes scanned the dim, grey corridor. It was silent and she was alone. Nothing moved, nothing breathed. Except her. A shaky breath escaped parted lips and she turned and quickly strode down the corridor to the stairs that would take her out of this god forsaken dungeon. She could've sworn she heard…but no. Must have been her imagination.

Bushy brown curls bounced as the girl darted up the stairs, her surroundings getting lighter as she escaped the dungeons and came closer to the first floor-the ground floor. She breathed a sigh of relief and immediately headed to the Great Hall for lunch. Maybe Neville would be there. She paused for a moment as she heard someone call out from behind her softly. She shook her head and ignored it, heading once more for lunch and ignoring the strange occurrence.

_I'm going insane. I can hear voices in the walls. There are voices in the trees and in the waters. Voices float on the wind and spit and crackle in the fires. They're everywhere. I can hear them as my quill scratches across my parchment, taking notes. I can hear them like a strange echo over people's voices. In every step, they whisper. I can feel the voices cling to me as I move. They weigh upon me as I stay still and I can't help but move in the hopes that they'll fall off, that they'll leave._

_But they won't._

_It's been getting worse. They've become louder. They've become more insistent. They….whisper horrible things. They tell me of waters that roar into the air and crash with rage upon the land. They tell me how it tears through cities and forests, how it crushes and drowns. They tell me of flames that greedily eat everything they touch. They tell me of the heat that radiates from them. They tell me how it burns and how it scorches. They tell me how the winds come in great funnels that destroy everything. They tell me how it shreds things to pieces. They tell me how they reduce great monuments to dust. They tell me of the ground rumbling and quaking. They tell me how it opens up like a great yawn swallows everything it comes near. They tell me how, like the mouth of hell, the flames leap from below and how liquid fire creeps out to destroy everything in its lazy flow. But worst of all, they show me. _

_The words on pages morph into cities and people and creatures. It shows the winds attacking and throwing everything. It shows the gaping mouth of what seems like hell and the liquid fires that burn. They show me the floods that wash away the evidence. I can hear the screams and cries. I can hear the rumbling earth, the roaring winds, the crackling fires, and the deafening waters. I am haunted constantly. The gentle caress of a breeze stings and bites me in warning. I feel aches and bruises all over me as I bathe. The fire in the fire place burns me now across the room. I cannot walk steady on the silent ground._

_People are beginning to talk about me in town. They whisper just like the voices. Their eyes burn into my flesh and I feel as if I am never alone, never unwatched. I claim that I simply feel unwell, but I know that they begin to doubt me. Mother will hardly look at me, much less into my eyes. Father…well, I trust that he has not believed me for a long while now._

_I am deeply frightened and that is why I am keeping this journal. I fear that I may not have much time left. I hear the word witch all the time now. I hear it around corners and through the walls. I can see it in their eyes and on their lips. I am afraid that they speak of me. I do not know if it is true or if the voices are taunting me once more. I'm not sure of much of anything anymore and I understand nothing. Why did the voices come to me? Am I the only one that hears them, or am I simply the only one that can't handle them? I'm too afraid to ask others. What if I truly am the only one? What should I do? Therefore, I shall keep this journal. Perhaps I will be able to decipher what is going on. I only hope that there is enough time._

The room was dark and filled with the soft sounds of sleep: snores and rustles of bed sheets. Occasionally a murmur would sound as one of the girls talked in her sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, however, a sharp gasp filled the air and a girl darted up in her bed. Her curls bounced around her madly as she desperately looked everywhere in the room. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she pulled herself to the head of her bed and buried her face in her knees. She pulled in sharp breathes, on the verge of crying, as she attempted to calm down.

She was so confused. It had seemed so real and it was _so loud. _She took a peak around the room and found that no one else had been disturbed. This only made her more frightened. However, there was nothing frightening now. Everything looked and sounded normal now. There was nothing…bad, out here.

With another look around the completely ordinary room, she resolved to stay awake. However, many minutes later found the girl fast asleep, curled up in a small ball.

_I can remember the first time the voices started. A traveller had come to town when I was very young. He had come again when I was much older, but by then I could barely comprehend to whom I was speaking or if people were truly speaking. He was kind and told great fantastical stories. The children loved him, the women fawned over him, and the men had accepted him. He stayed for a very long time before he left again. I, however, couldn't stand to be near him._

_It was nothing at first. I thought I was just tired, or that I had been reading too much. I would hear my name called from behind me as if whispered from a distance. I would feel, sometimes, as if someone were standing directly behind me, breathing softly, waiting for something. But there would be no one there and I was left with no idea of what they may have wanted. I began to have strange dreams of people and lights that burst from them. They would shout things in a strange tongue that sounded like the devil's speech. It frightened me, but it was nothing that I could not handle. Despite this, I did not trust Cuthbert Binns and I did not want him to stay in this town any longer. It was something about his presence. His weighed heavily upon me, as if the very air around him had more substance to it. Yet, it felt like the air moments before lightening would strike. It was exhilarating and it made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes would sparkle as he told us of stories long ago. He would talk about great men from long ago and battles waged on seas. In whispers, he would tell us of giants that battled and made the earth rumbled and of strange beings that could command the elements. He would tell us of shape-shifters and strange beasts. Away from the eyes of the elders, he would tell us of magic and show us fantastical light shows with the promise of never talking about it._

_It both fascinated and frightened me. Witches were whores of the devil, but this was a _man _doing the witches magic. The younger children did not understand, but I did. And it frightened me. His "magic" only made the voices louder. I hated him for this. I still do._

She focused diligently on the ghost at the front of the room as he droned on about the Werewolf Code of Conduct as her classmates fell asleep around her. She could hear someone calling her name from somewhere near the windows, but no one was there so she decided to ignore them. But the voice was persistent. She was sweating by the time class had ended. She knew this had to stop at some point. They had started whispering to her regularly ever since McGonagall first showed up on her doorstep to explain to her and her parents Magic and it was now approaching the end of October.

So focused and distracted, the girl did not notice as the classroom emptied and she was left alone in the room. Well, almost entirely alone.

"Miss? I believe it is time for you to leave now." Her head snapped up to stare into the black orbs of her teacher. His pale white body swayed slightly, as if in a wind, and the girl watched him, fascinated. His face held a fairly vague look as if he did not realize where he was or to whom he was speaking, other than that he was doing these actions. He gave a small, graveled cough to gain the girls attention. "Miss?" she shook her head to clear her daze and opened her mouth as if to speak. Though, she paused. Her gaze slid once more to the wall of windows, focused. He brow furrowed in confusion. Her voice came out softly, as if she did not realize she was speaking.

"Did you hear that? They keep calling my name…" So focused on the distant voice, she did not notice her teachers gaze clear. He stared at her for a moment before drifting quickly away. He hovered about the bookcase near his desk before he withdrew an old, small, book. He looked at it for a moment before going to the girl once more.

"Miss?" she jumped slightly before turning guilty eyes up to her teacher. She opened her mouth to apologize. He interrupted her, however, by holding out the book. Hesitantly, she took it. Her small hands caressed the edges of the age worn book before she looked curiously up at her teacher. He gave coughed to clear his throat, though this was no longer necessary in his state of being.

"This is a diary that I took from a dead muggle girl while I was still young and very much alive. Read it. Tell me when you have finished. Now, it is time for you to head on to your next class." She opened her mouth, partially in surprise at her teacher's directness, and partially in question. He raised a ghostly hand and shook his head. "No, miss, it is time for you to leave. Speak when you have finished." She gave a pause before nodding and gathering her things. With the diary tucked under her arm, she quickly left the classroom without looking back.

_I was very sick the second time he had visited my town. I can remember him standing over my bed, watching me, as my father told him of my sudden illness. I can remember, through hazes of the fever, as he sat by my bed with the moon shining through the window and reading the pages of my diary. I can remember him whispering things in the dead of night that things I heard and saw were something to be proud of – things I should talk about. He told me to be glad that I received these visions. But what did he know of them? He could not see the faces or hear the screams, or feel the pain and fear and desperation that I did. He knew nothing. However, I can remember him calling me a Seer. He told me that I would make a wonderful witch and a powerful Seer._

_It made me sick._

_He mocked my deepest fears, my secret, with that of being a witch. He accused me of being cohorts with the devil, he called me a fortuneteller. I have never hated him more than I did in that moment. He was always gone by morning, but by night, he spoke to me. He begged that when I awoke, that I allow him to take me with him on his travels. He said he would introduce me to other Seers that would train me and help hone my 'ability'. He said I was rare and special. When I was finally able to speak, I raged and screamed. I demanded that he be taken from my room. I demanded that he leave and never return. I told my father that he was a magician and accused me of being a witch._

_However, my father laughed off my accusations and told me to rest. The man, however, only watched me. He did not stay much longer in the town before he left. He made his excuses and left only a few days after I had awoken fully. I can remember my mother gossiping after church one morning about his strange and swift disappearance. I'm still not sure that I'm glad he left or not._

It was not until late that night that Hermione Granger pulled the journal out of her bag. She took a moment to smooth her hands over the cover and the weary binding. The edges were rough and the pages within were uneven. They were brittle and yellowed and no longer crisp. The book smelled old and like smoke and mothballs. It was beautiful, to the young bibliophile.

She opened the book to the very first page. A name and question were all that was written.

_Faith Wardoe_

_What do I fear?_

She tilted her head in curiosity before she turned the page and began to read.

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANY OF IT'S CHARACTERS.**


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